


fatherly

by zhuzhubi



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Spencer Reid, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Prison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Prison, Reid as a dad, just implied tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhuzhubi/pseuds/zhuzhubi
Summary: You’ll always remember it like this:It’s Saturday afternoon. He left for Mexico last night, and you’re starting to worry that he hasn’t called. You’re 22 weeks along. Diana’s having a good day.Emily calls you and tells you 'JJ is coming to pick you up and bring you to Quantico.' Your stomach sinks. You’re confused. She won’t tell you what’s going on.When you get there JJ makes you sit down, and then starts apologizing for 'not keeping you in the loop. We had our hands full trying to fix this.'“Fix what?” you ask, voice shaky, “JJ, what’s going on?”You’ll remember thinking she’s going to tell you he’s dead“Did you know Spence has been going to Mexico?”
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 133





	fatherly

**Author's Note:**

> also on tumblr @zhuzhubii

Things are good for a while - 10 months and 6 days, to be exact - before life really just starts shitting on you.

First, Diana’s condition starts deteriorating seemingly out of nowhere. The doctors seem to think it’s just a problem with her medication, but Spencer talks to her on the phone a few times and his face says it all. _I have a bad feeling_ , he tells you, _I think I need to go see her._

The two of you end up taking some time off work to try and sort it out -

_he fights you at first, insists he needs to do it on his own. But you know him, and even after years of being a couple he tends to keep things from you in an attempt to ‘protect’ you (it’s something you’ve been working on, especially now that you’re married), even when he’d much rather have your support. You’re not about to let him face whatever this turns out to be alone, and you tell him as much_

\- He goes alone the first time, that’s something you fail to talk him out of, but when he won’t return your texts or calls -

_How’s Diana?_

_Any news?_

_Spencer, I’m assuming things aren’t going well. I’ll be there in 20._

\- you hail a taxi and head over to Bennington’s, your mind racing through all the things that could possibly be wrong. You know it’s not good - Diana’s had problems with her medication before, if it was just that he would have kept in communication with you. 

When you arrive at Bennington’s he’s not with her or the doctors. He’s sitting in the lobby with his head in his hands, and when you get close enough to see his eyes, you notice they’re watering the way they do when he’s trying to hold back tears. You don’t speak at first, just sit next to him and rest a comforting hand on his thigh - you know he needs a moment to collect himself for whatever he’s about to say.

It takes almost ten minutes of just sitting there before he says in a painfully small voice, “I went in…to see her. And when she saw me,” he takes a rattling breath, “when she saw me, she didn’t - for three seconds, she looked at me and I - she didn’t recognize me? She’s my _mom_ , and she didn’t know me, she didn’t know me - “

He’s working himself into a panic, and all you can do is take his hand and place it over your chest, encouraging him to match your steady breaths. 

She ends up with a dementia diagnosis, most likely early onset Alzheimer’s. Spencer talks to the doctors, but barely says a word to you. He gets like this whenever his mom has problems, but it’s never been this bad before. It’s like he’s forgotten there’s a world outside his mother and schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s - he’s already talking about inheriting it, as if it’s a reason for you to leave him. 

You hadn’t even considered it, and you constantly reassure him of that fact. Not always in words - you’re afraid of him thinking it’s just talk - but in actions. You put food in front of him when he forgets to eat, let him sound ideas off of you when he’s trying to make a decision. Hold him while he cries. 

You, both of you, have to go back to DC soon, and he needs to decide on a treatment plan before then. The doctors at Bennington’s keep suggesting moving her to a memory care facility - _we’re afraid of elopement_ , they say, _our facility isn’t as well equipped for these types of things. Moving her to memory care will likely be safer for her_ \- but Spencer just keeps saying _she’s comfortable here. Moving her will scare her._

You’re not sure if he’s refusing to consider it for that reason, or if it’s his way of avoiding the issue - he wants to keep things the way they are because he wants this to not be real. It’s likely a combination of both. Either way, you can tell the doctors aren’t going to change his mind until he’s had more time to process it, and when Spencer steps out - _I’m sorry, I just need a minute_ \- for a break, you tell them as much. _Let me take him back to DC_ , you say, _and I’ll see what I can do._

So you return to DC without him having made any major decisions in regards to treatment. Almost as soon as you get back, he’s being called into work. It’s bad, something to do with the reason Garcia’s been holed up in Quantico for the past few months. He can’t tell you, that’s how you know how bad it is. 

Three agonizing days later, you get a call from Morgan that your husband’s crying in a park near my house. _I think if I try to talk to him he’ll just make himself hold it in, so I’m not going to go over there. I’m keeping an eye on him, though._

You find him slumped on a swing, swaying ever so slightly forward and back. You take the one next to him and start swinging, pumping your legs and propelling yourself higher and higher. He joins you, and soon the both of you are laughing like children, trying to playfully out-swing each other.

After, when your swings have stilled - breaths coming in soft pants, cheeks flushed from the wind - he says, “I’m scared.”

You knew that already, and he knew you knew it, but he needed to say it.

And when he starts researching treatment options the next morning, diving into it with the vigor he always puts into academics, you think _we can make it through this._

…

Somewhere in the chaos that’s been the past year, you and Spencer must’ve gotten careless with contraception. Because right now, while he’s making the first of what will be many trips down to Mexico to pick up non-FDA approved medication for his mom, you’re sitting on the toilet staring down a positive pregnancy test. 

You started talking about kids before you even got married - both of you want at least one. You were actually beginning to discuss when to start trying before all of this started happening, after which there was an unspoken agreement to wait. 

You, (blissfully) unaware of what’s yet to come, think _this is the worst possible time for us to be having a baby._

…

He barely reacts when you tell him. There’s no wide grin or excited jitters - you picture how he would’ve reacted to a pregnancy a year ago, and the difference is so stark it makes you want to cry. 

After a tense pause, he buries his face in his hands and mutters, “can we do this?”

You tell him, “I know we can,” and watch him un-tense, just slightly. 

The truth is you’re really not sure yourself. Especially since Diana’s at home now. Her behavior is so erratic so much of the time, you’re just not convinced you can raise a baby with her living here, even with the nurse handling most of her care. Spencer will just refuse if you suggest having her move out after he’s fought so hard to bring her home, but you hope he’ll change his mind once he really starts to process that this isn’t just a hypothetical. In a little over 30 weeks, you’ll be parents. 

…

There are some happy things, too, though they are few and far between. 

Despite the mutual apprehension surrounding this pregnancy and the stress it’s causing, your first sonogram is one of the best moments of your life. You hear the magic words _everything looks good!_ and your OB goes into further detail, which you’re sure Spencer appreciates, but that’s all you needed to hear. Both of you are smiling, really smiling, for the first time in months. Your baby still just looks like a blobby mass, but you think they’re the most beautiful baby in the world. 

At 20 weeks you learn you’re having a girl and it’s the same feeling all over again. It’s not that you particularly cared either way, or that you plan on making the nursery especially gendered (Spencer’s dead set on filling it with kiddie bookshelves and books of all kinds - everything from picture books to classical literature to scientific journals), but knowing makes it all the more real. 

… 

You get home from work one day and he’s frantically packing one of his spare go-bags, already dressed in his ‘Mexico’ clothes even though he just went a few weeks ago. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask him, startling him out of his stupor.

He jolts and drops his bag, ducking his head as he replies, “I need to get more medicine for Mom.”

“You just went, there should still be a lot left,” you try to reason with him.

He starts shaking his head, his brow furrowing and lips pinching, “Mom, um, Mom got confused earlier and poured it out. It’s not her fault, I just need to go get more now.”

You sigh - you have a bad feeling about these trips, and you’re not convinced the medicine is making a difference. But it’s his mom, and he’s been taking care of his mom his whole life - it’s pretty much impossible to talk him out of anything relating to her. You step closer, wanting to at least calm him down -

“What happened to your face!?” you gasp, reaching for the bruise, red and angry on his cheek.

He pulls away from your touch, turning his head so that you can’t see the bruise. His words are rushed, “it’s nothing.”

It’s clearly not, “Spencer,” you say in a no-nonsense tone of voice -

_You won’t let yourself believe it until he confirms it, but you think you know what happened_

\- He swallows harshly as if he doesn’t know what to say, opens and closes his mouth a few times before muttering to his socked-feet, “she didn’t mean to.”

You pull him as close as you can - your baby bump gets in the way - and soothe fingers through his hair. He starts making excuses for her, “it was my fault. She was upset, and she was dumping out the medicine. I yelled at her and she lashed out, that’s it. She didn’t mean it. She forgot after…” -

_You don’t know if she’s ever hit him before. You know she loves him, so much, but that she gets confused sometimes. He won’t say anything bad about her, though. Any time he talks about her illness he frames it in terms of how he wishes she didn’t have to be in pain, that he wishes he could make it better for her. It must have been hard for him, you know, growing up with her - caring for her as only a child himself, barely an adult and making the decision to commit her, struggling to pay for private care so she wouldn’t end up in a state facility._

_He never even mentions any of it except in passing, much less complains. He clings to the parts of her that are motherly and professor-ly and wise - you think pretending it’s not hard is his way of reconciling with the tiny part of him that resents her for being ill. He thinks acknowledging that her illness not only made her life harder, but_ his _too would undermine his love for her. You still haven’t been able to convince him otherwise_

\- “I just - I have to - “ he’s having a hard time getting the words out, but you know what he’s trying to say -

_I have to do everything I can to try and help her_

“I know,” you whisper, not knowing how much you’ll come to regret it.

…

You’ll always remember it like this:

It’s Saturday afternoon. He left for Mexico last night, and you’re starting to worry that he hasn’t called. You’re 22 weeks along. Diana’s having a good day.

Emily calls you and tells you _JJ is coming to pick you up and bring you to Quantico_. Your stomach sinks. You’re confused. She won’t tell you what’s going on.

When you get there JJ makes you sit down, and then starts apologizing for _not keeping you in the loop. We had our hands full trying to fix this._

“Fix what?” you ask, voice shaky, “JJ, what’s going on?” -

_You’ll remember thinking she’s going to tell you he’s dead_

\- “Did you know Spence has been going to Mexico?” she asks, putting off breaking the news.

You nod your head, too rattled to really do anything else, “Y - yeah, he’s been going down there to get medicine for his mom. JJ - “

She swallows and takes a deep breath, then forces it out, “he was involved in a high speed chase and was arrested for drug possession,” then, seeing your disbelieving stare, “yeah, I know. We followed a lead and discovered the doctor, Nadie Ramos, dead in her motel room.”

Your breath hitches, “Is he - “

She cuts you off, thinking you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion, “we think he’s being framed by Mr. Scratch, he didn’t kill anyone.”

“Of course he didn’t,” you angry she’d even imply you’d think he could do that. “You guys figured it out, right?” you ask desperately, your hands coming to cradle your belly, “You got him cleared, right?”

She doesn’t say anything, just gives you this look, and you know. So when you hear the elevator ding! and he’s led out by Emily and Luke and Rossi, jacket draped over his arms to obscure the handcuffs, you shouldn’t be surprised. But you are. He’s dirty and scraped up, as if someone pushed him to the ground -

_Someone probably did. Police aren’t known for being nice when they arrest people_

\- The rest of his team is crowding around him, but he only has eyes for you. And when you get close enough you hear him saying, “I’m sorry, (y/n) I’m so sorry,” half under his breath.

He can’t hug you properly, but he rests his head on your shoulder as you embrace him, and you tell him, “it’s okay, we’ll get this figured out,” because you need to believe that’s true.

He strokes his palms over your bump, looking down at his daughter and whispering so softly even you can barely hear him, “I’m so sorry, baby. Whatever happens, never forget your dad loves you. Always and Forever”

He’s never referred to himself that way before, as ‘dad’ -

_Months later, he’ll tell you he’d never said it before because he was saving it for the first time he held her. That he decided to call himself ‘dad’ on this day because he was afraid he’d get convicted and not meet her until she was already an adult. That she’d grow up without him, not hearing him tell her ‘I love you.’ Hating him for not being there_

…

He asks you if you want him to take the plea deal. You tell him you can’t make his decision for him, but you’ll listen if he wants to talk through it -

_I don’t want her to grow up knowing I admitted to something I didn’t do_

_Then there’s your decision_

…

The judge is making your blood boil -

_Plenty of men abandon their pregnant wives, Ms. Duncan_

\- How _dare_ she. All of this has been demeaning enough, but to imply that he’d walk out on his wife and unborn child? That’s low.

You want to scream at her, defend your husband to her. But you can’t, lest you be detained for contempt of court -

_She can sit there and insult my husband, imply that he would turn tail and run in the face of adversity - if she would have the decency to listen to a_ single _character witness she’d know he’s not even close to being that kind of a man! - but I can’t say a damn thing against her. No. I have to keep my mouth shut and pretend that this is fair, that this is_ justice

\- When she denies bail, sends sweet, gentle Spencer Reid to prison pending trial, you hold it together because you know he’s scared. You know him, and seeing you breakdown while being completely powerless to do anything to comfort you isn’t something he can deal with right now. 

So you watch as they cuff him and drag him out of the courtroom like a dog. He turns back to look at you, starts to mouth something -

_Later, much later, you’ll ask him what it was. His answer will be hugging you so tightly you almost can’t breathe and burying his face in your hair._

_What he mouthed in that courtroom? Maybe he doesn’t always use words, but you hear him say it every day_

\- before he’s gone. The whole thing is over in less than ten seconds, that’s how _efficient_ it is. 

Then, once you’re sure he can’t see you, you let yourself cry. 

…

He lets you visit exactly once -

_I’m okay, I promise_

_Spencer…_

_How’re you?_

_…I’m alright. So’s the baby. She’s been moving around a lot, I think she misses you_

_Do you think she can hear me from here?_

_Yeah, I think she can._

_Then, um. I love you, baby, your dad loves you so much. I’m so sorry I can’t be with you right now, but my friends are trying really hard to bring me home to you, and I trust them a lot so I’ll be home soon, okay? Make sure not to be too hard on your mom, she loves you lots too. Forever and Always_

\- before telling his teammates to make sure you don’t come again. You’re mad at first, but then JJ explains that while he wouldn’t say exactly why, she thinks some of the other prisoners noticed you and your pregnancy and used it to threaten him. You’re still mad, but it’s not really directed toward him. More so, you’re angry at the universe for putting the two of you in this situation.

Mostly you’re scared for him. JJ didn’t say it, but you can tell something happened. That it was more than just threats. So you don’t push it - not because you think he’s right to push you away. In fact, you think he needs you now more than ever. But because even though you know, intellectually, that it wasn’t your fault, you still feel guilty -

_I know_

_I know I know I know, it feels like those tiny two words are echoing through your head all the time now._

I didn’t even try to talk him out of going, _you think_ , maybe I could’ve stopped him. Maybe if I’d’ve stopped him none of this would have happened

\- that he got hurt in your name.

…

You’ve switched Diana to 24 hour nursing, something you and Spencer had been discussing before all this, so you’re not worried about leaving her alone while you go visit your parents for the week. You really, really need a break from all this.

You’re 36 weeks along and Spencer’s still not home. His team doesn’t want to worry you, but them keeping things from you is making you worry more - they won’t give you updates on he’s doing, which you know means _not well_. 

So off to your parents you go, grateful that they’re in Virginia because you’re too far along to fly. They’ve never approved of Spencer - always thought his job is _just so dangerous_ , or _what kind of a man doesn’t like sports?_ \- but for once, they don’t mention it. 

You know this whole prison thing is only worsening their opinion of him (earlier on, during the first month of Spencer being away, they called you constantly - _honey, have you entertained the thought that he might have…?_ and _sweetheart, we just want what’s best for you, and we’re not sure that’s_ him), but you’re having his baby, and you haven’t given a single sign that you can be persuaded to walk away. In essence, you’re heavily pregnant, and because of that they’ve given up fighting with you (at least for now).

You’re there for three days before Emily calls you -

_Deja vu_

\- and says _stay inside and lock all the windows and doors, an FBI escort is on the way to you now. Don’t open the door for anyone, I’ll call you back once they get there so you know it’s safe to go with them._

The next thing you know you’re walking into the bullpen hours and hours later, being guided to a chair which you sink down into despite how uncomfortable it is. Rossi comes rushing over to you, assuring the escorts that the team can handle things from here. 

“Rossi! What’s going on, is Spencer okay?” you ask, almost in tears from the stress of what’s going on.

He bends down and places a soothing hand on your arm, “I promise we’ll explain everything. Bur first, there’s someone here I think you’ll be happy to see.”

He turns and glances over his shoulder, bringing your line of sight to someone you had overlooked in your shocked stupor. For a moment, you forget about everything that’s just happened -

_He’s here, oh my god, he’s actually here_

\- He’s just as relieved to see you as you are to see him, comes striding over with those long legs and pulls you into a hug, smoothing hands over your back, then your belly, his cheeks scratching over yours with prickly facial hair.

“She’s gotten so big,” his voice is shaky, but it’s _his_ and he’s _here_.

“And you’ve gotten so scruffy,” is what comes out of your mouth, making you chuckle and lift a hand to his face to feel said scruff. 

He hums, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. It’s the sound that carries you through the _absolute mayhem_ that is the next two days.

…

After Lindsey and Cat, being home with Diana for a mere few hours before he gets called back in to deal with Scratch (you know it must be an hands on deck emergency because he hasn’t been out of prison 24 hours, isn’t even close to being reinstated, and they still need him) you finally get to lie in bed with him again, feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, after a long three months. 

He’s too exhausted right now to process any of it, and while you saw him struggling to hold himself together earlier (and know that doesn’t bode well for the months of recovery ahead), he’s mostly okay for the time being, if only because he’s crashing from an adrenaline high -

_It lasts for about four hours. Then, he jolts awake, gasping for breath. He starts to pull away from you, but you don’t let him. You take one of his hands from where it’s tugging at the collar of his sleeping shirt and place it on your chest, guiding him to follow your breaths just like you did in the lobby of Bennington’s over a year before._

_He doesn’t say anything, but his breathing slows to a normal rate, and you know he’s not dissociating right now. You know this because his hand has drifted down to your bump and is chasing little thumps of movement. He’s crying (and so are you) because it’s the first time he’s been able to feel her kicking like this. He’s crying because he missed so much. He’s crying because he loves her_

…

You don’t blame him for struggling -

_It’s the ninth time you’ve found him hiding in the bathroom with the lights off, rocking softly with his eyes clenched shut and hands clawing at his ears. His sensory issues were completely manageable before prison, but now flashbacks and sensory hypersensitivity keep triggering each other, leaving him constantly on edge, if not outright panicking._

_When he’s like this there isn’t much you can do except wait it subsides, at least to a bearable level. You can’t talk to him because whispering hurts his ears, and anything above a whisper is too loud. He won’t open his eyes so you can’t comfort him that way, and it would be too bright for him besides. If you try to approach him, he’ll lash out because he’ll think you’re a threat._

_You, with Spencer’s compliance, managed to find a well respected memory care facility that was willing to take Diana almost immediately, so she’s out of the house now. It’s much quieter and calmer now that she’s not here - you were hoping that would help mediate these attacks, but it has yet to make a difference. It doesn’t help that it’s too soon to have identified all of his triggers - this time it was the laundry detergent that set him off. You think you’ll have to switch to something with a strong fragrance and see if that helps - you use unscented because the scented ones bother your eyes, but you can deal with that if it means_ this _will happen less often._

_Once he’s calmed down a little bit you tip-toe over and drape a weighted blanket over his lap and sit down on the toilet - you’re far too pregnant for the floor - so he can get used to your presence. He comes out of it eventually, but even then he’s jumpy and has trouble speaking_

\- but it makes you worried. You’re weeks away from having a baby, and your husband is trying _really hard_ to be okay, but he still needs _so much help_ with daily life that you’re really not sure how you’re going to do this. 

JJ and Garcia have been coming over to help with the final preparations, and before they come in you have to tell them to keep their voices down and avoid sudden movements. That Spencer wants to help, but might not be able to. 

They’re surprised, the first time. You think it’s because Spencer was so functional for Cat and Scratch. They don’t realize how much he hides from them, how much he held in the past few months because he was afraid it’d get him _killed_. 

Either way, they comply - he’s their friend, too, and they have no intention of making things harder for him (or you). It actually goes well - having a task to focus on (other than laundry) helps him manage his symptoms, you’ve learned. He gets his kiddie bookcases - three of them creating a mini-library in the corner of the nursery - and his rocking-chair and books. JJ and Garcia brought over the picture books he never had the chance to go pick out himself, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him - they brought lots, and it makes him smile. 

While he’s out in the main room choosing his favorite novels to bring in here, you tentatively ask, “do you think he’ll be okay with the baby?”

Even Garcia doesn’t seem sure. After a pause, JJ says, “I think it’ll take time. He loves her, that’s obvious, and he would never deliberately do anything to hurt her. I’m sure he’ll do anything in his power to protect her. But if he has a flashback and doesn’t know what’s going on…I don’t think he’ll be ready to be alone with her right away, is all I’m saying.”

Garcia adds, “and don’t forget, Lady Reid, we’re all here to help out with Boy Genius and your little girl. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

Then, Spencer comes back and you all return to shelving books.

…

You go into labor at 41 weeks, and you think you must be the only pregnant woman alive to be _happy_ her baby is late. Spencer is still majorly having a difficult time, but the past seven days have made a noticeable difference in his ability to manage the PTSS. His panic attacks are still horrible, but he’s not shutting down like he was before - you’re able to approach him right away, and it takes him less time to come out of them. 

He’s so preoccupied with the fact that the baby is coming, he’s actually mostly fine while you’re laboring. JJ is here too, and it’s a big relief having someone to help him out while you can’t. 

Despite everything, meeting your daughter for the first time is the best moment of your life (and it’s his too - he’s smiling wider than he did on your wedding day, and you didn’t think that was possible). She’s screaming and squirming and covered in goop, but she’s the best thing ever.

Later, once she’s quieted down and been cleaned off by the nurses, he cradles her to his chest and brushes a gentle hand over her little head. He’s so awestruck it’s beautiful - here’s this absolutely perfect tiny baby who’s _here_ despite all the horrible things that have happened to her parents over the past year. 

He says, “hi Isla, I’m your dad. I’m _so_ happy to meet you, I love you so, _so_ much. Always and Forever. And I’m gonna watch you grow up into an amazing young lady, and your mom and I are gonna be here every step of the way. I never want you to feel alone, okay? We’re always gonna be here for you.”

… 

It’s hard at first. You knew it would be.

He alternates between clinging to Isla and being unable to look at her. You’ve come to realize it’s because he’s both loves her and is terrified of losing her, and thinks he’s _corrupting_ her somehow just by being nearby -

_You don’t pretend to know whether or not he did the right thing. Or even if there was a ‘right thing’ he could have done. What you do know is that he’d been threatened, and was under an almost inconceivable amount of stress. He reacted. He did the best he could, given his circumstances, and the moral ambiguity of his decision is besides the point. You’re in no position to judge him for it._

_You know he’s a good man - you wouldn’t have married him if you thought otherwise - and that sometimes good people do bad things. It doesn’t make them bad people. After all, anyone who claims to make the ‘right’ decision every time can only be called a liar_

\- When he gets like that, gets afraid, you just hold her and sit next to him. You can’t tell him how to feel, he needs to come to terms with that himself. But you can show him it isn’t driving you away - that you’re not afraid of him, or of having him near Isla. 

Eventually, after weeks and weeks, it starts to fade. First, he scoots closer to you - still unable to look. Then, he starts sneaking glances. One day, he rests his head on your shoulder and starts tickling Isla’s belly, a smile pulling at his lips when she wiggles her little legs in response. 

That’s when you start to feel like it’ll be okay. 

…

He doesn’t go back to work. The team was put on mandated leave for six weeks after Scratch, and he knew the baby would be born before then so he didn’t apply to be reinstated - they wouldn’t have approved it anyway, knowing he’d be away for paternity leave. You go back to work after ten weeks - if you took more time off it’d be unpaid, and you can’t really afford that right now - but he doesn’t. You completely support that decision - you have no worries about him being alone with Isla anymore, and you think it’s good for him to continue bonding with her. 

Things are a lot better now. Not perfect, he still has flashbacks and sensory attacks on occasion though it’s not all-consuming anymore, but _much better_ -

_One day, when you’re getting ready for bed, he’ll say_ they’re looking for someone to head the Forensic Psychology department at George Washington University 

_and you’ll reply_ you already applied, didn’t you? _smiling a little._

_He’ll laugh_. Am I that predictable?

No, I just know you.

_He’ll take the position. When you ask him why he didn’t go back to the BAU, he’ll respond_ maybe I will, one day. When Isla’s older. But for now, at least, I don’t want to be traveling all the time. I like being here with the both of you, and I’m in no rush to change that

\- You come home one evening to Spencer napping on the couch with Isla sprawled across his soft belly, blissfully sleeping away with her dad’s big hand resting on her back.

From here things reset - this moment marks 1 day and counting of life being lovely. 


End file.
